Princess LilyPad Poems

A minor oversight
I have had a face my whole entire life
That fairly enchanted, my body swift and lithe
Eyes like a cat, lips like pillows plush
And with every next glance of an old man’s greedful touch

An elf on my shelf
Small little feet little buns little hands,
The delicate bones that form a true baby grand,
Flecks of light that bounce from his boyish silken crown,
Of fine hazelnut hairs tousled all around.

Branded Bridal Blues
The lives of our times, these days anymore aren’t so much ours, their yours and then their kinda mine,
The riddles in our rhymes, aren’t so much sung for each other anymore, in fact, not most times
The lilt in our voices, have gone flat from too many untaken back swipes and further disrespectful choices
The grins we used to swap, are mostly drowned out by angered, juvenile and know it better than you voices.

Giving Up The Ghost
Polarized by a blanket of s$%T
That covers every guilt, every glance, every pit
Fingertips, lips, slip and fit
Until its all it is and all that's it.

Cinderella Syndrome
To explain hysteria and discontent within a female, I point to the fables.
Filled with magical ways to become instantly loved, solid, safe and able.
What shite have we told, what poppycock sold,
Flipping the pages of fairy tales, countless times told.

A Barrel Of Moonshine Fixed Us In Time
Do you recall a sadder day
When I looked upon your furrowed brow
And spoke one truth for once for ever upon a time
Sitting broken I told you someday ours would be the most beautiful love story ever written.

If I Was A Sheep
I want to relate a regret
I want to not lose respect
I have these hard things
I have these horrible things

Johnny
If I had to point you out in a crowd,
Designate your disguise,
I’d tell the wonderer to look amongst his peers
To find a magic man’s eyes

Bring the boys back home
These Sundays I spend with you
Only we know what they mean,
special and unspoken- a loving dream revealed

A Forest of Horrors
Caught up in a storm, he peered a light coming from behind much ivy.
Flustered in the cluster, he tracked that direction, feet blistered and stymied.
As he gratefully approached the shack from where the light came,
Odd smells of boiling must, instilled apprehension upon his onward wobbling cane.

The poetry Clock
On paper it becomes fact
On paper it stares back
On paper we are striken
With the facts that demand as well as take

Fancy Dancer
Fable me, like your fancy dancer
Trouble me like the corner bum
Life ahead it stands to suffer
Drink me death from a bottle of rum

A minor oversight

I have had a face my whole entire lifeThat fairly enchanted, my body swift and litheEyes like a cat, lips like pillows plushAnd with every next glance of an old man’s greedful touchTo be grown up they said, was important now became all the rush

I have seen the labored breathing of old dogsI did sashay down sidewalks in stuffed training bras.I have used my tongue to draw juice from ice popsAnd had to run away from offers of rides with raised rocksBut still only was i perfecting my best game of hopscotch.